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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508256">Protocol Princess</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Delirium/pseuds/Virtual_Delirium'>Virtual_Delirium</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5, Persona 5 Royal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Espionage and romance, Explicit Sex, F/M, Spy thriller, Violence, classical fairytale allegories, shumako</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26508256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtual_Delirium/pseuds/Virtual_Delirium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world continues to arm itself in sophistry. The sword has become the gun. Monsters have become terrorists. Mad kings are now Prime Ministers. But some fables endure longer than others. A dragon acting on fury. A lost princess. . .issuing parking tickets?</p><p>Overshadowed by her deceased father’s past, MI6 and DIH approach Makoto Niijima for a covert mission to infiltrate the mind of the young best-selling writer, Ren Amamiya – who has for unknown reasons, captured the interest of a most-wanted terrorist; callsign ‘Crow’.</p><p>The spy and the author. Makoto soon learns who is the greater inventor of fiction in espionage and romance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amamiya Ren/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Niijima Makoto/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Protocol Princess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>1. Defence Intelligence Headquarters (DIH). Japan’s military intelligence organisation which falls under the jurisdiction of the country’s Ministry of Defence. They do NSA/MI6-type shit </p><p>2. Countries have been changed by COVID-19’s socio-economic and cultural impacts. While this is a no-powers AU fanfic that reflects a grounded world, it will be written in the narrative simulation of a timeline that never acquainted with this pandemic. In other words, Makoto and the others will live their lives business-as-usual. Or at least, as usual as one could possibly inhabit with the given précis.<br/>…It’s bemusing to think about, but this time last year I never imagined I would write something like that into an a/n. Oh well.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mission parameters ▌</p><p> </p><p>-Amamiya Ren-</p><p>“Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon. . .is not the dragon the hero of his own story?”</p><p>-Erin Morgenstern</p><p> </p><p>-Niijima Makoto-</p><p>“Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence. . .something that helplessly wants our love.”</p><p>-R.M Rilke</p><p> </p><p>The princess is in the castle. Initiate <em>Protocol Princess </em>▌</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>H.A.L.O.</p><p>The military speak for ‘high altitude, low opening’ jump. Official records would tell you that it is a skydiving operation manoeuvre used by military and spec-ops forces from all around the world. For the world to feel safer, the people would be told it was always the good guys who jumped off an aircraft at 35,000 feet, mission-briefed, locked and loaded with mil-spec weaponry.</p><p>Tonight, it was not the good guys who were preparing a HALO insertion into a Hokkaido mansion owned by Junya Kaneshiro.</p><p>“<em>Cabin decompression in five, four, three. . .</em>” the pilot announced through the speaker; a female voice.</p><p>Two figures stepped closer to the carrier plane’s opening rear compartment. The sounds of parachute clips-clicks and checks were drowned out as the widening maw revealed the celestial vista.  </p><p>A long sheet of storm clouds carpeted beneath the plane. Snapper lightning flashes dappled within the concentrated grey masses of particle water, promising thunder and rain within its droplet-bloated depths.</p><p>“We’re supposed to skydive through <em>that</em>?”  </p><p>The silent one looked to his dubious companion. Both their faces were visored and tinted with a pressurised oxygen helmet, so it was near-impossible to tell them apart, unless one spoke.</p><p>“Your codename is supposed to be ‘Dragon’, not Chicken,” he replied.</p><p>Dragon shook his head disapprovingly.</p><p>“This HALO dive is already risky enough. I get the part where I’m supposed to follow the HUD in my helmet, so that we don’t fuck it up, like landing five clicks off target. But free-falling through a thunderstorm? Was there no other way, Crow?” asked Dragon.</p><p>“<em>We’re hovering above the drop zone, boys. It’s now or never</em>,” said the pilot.</p><p>Crow stepped to the precipice of the jump-off, peering down. The storm was rumbling megawattage discharges in a terrifying show of mother nature’s might. This was crazy, thought Crow.</p><p>“Tonight’s the last chance with Kaneshiro before he’s completely off the radar. DIH are already down there. The entire mansion has been on lockdown for the duration of his house arrest,” said Crow.</p><p>Crow turned around to Dragon, strapping his CTAR-21 assault rifle securely.</p><p>“We’ve come this far. Don’t disappoint me now, Dragon,” said Crow.</p><p>Crow held his arms out like Jesus and fell back.</p><p><em>Showing me more cheek than a proctology convention</em>, thought Dragon.</p><p>Dragon followed through, leaping off the plane. Split-second after jumping, he had the momentary feeling that was akin to, ‘Did I forget my house keys?’ when out the door; except the house keys were his parachute in this instance.</p><p>Dragon quickly forgot about his derp deliberation as he plunged into the storm. Lightning crackled past him, patterning the cloud haze like glass cracking. The orange numbers on Dragon’s helmet HUD gave the altitude reading of his fall, the luminous numerals dropping fast in its sycophantic beeps as he accelerated into terminal velocity. Even through the protective clothing, Dragon was tickled by the charged electrostatic dimension he was tearing through – jumpstarting the adrenaline injection into his heart, beating fast and furious. A quicksilver flash briefly blinded Dragon’s vision when one bolt streaked too close for comfort. His hearing almost deafened, whistling a low pitch hum. Then the world cleared - blinding white replaced by storm grey. The world vocalised its rumbles again, crescendoing as Dragon’s eardrums recovered.</p><p>Breaking out of the clouds’ underbelly was almost like diving into a pool. It was raining. <em>Heavily</em>. Pouring so hard, it almost felt like he was underwater. Jesus – this was not a storm. It was a fucking typhoon snorting cocaine off the live electric wire connecting God’s Hello Kitty karaoke machine [ Now Playing: <em>Track 01_Pandemonium Nyaaa!</em> ]. Through the rain-blurred visor, Dragon could make Crow’s indistinct shape ahead of him, having segued through the clouds. Dragon concentrated on the concentric circles in the HUD, the reading identifying the landing zone at the rear courtyard of Kaneshiro’s cliffside mansion. Second to second, Dragon would adjust his angle, every nerve, every muscle was pulled at maximum tension for the difference between life and death.</p><p>As they dropped closer, Dragon could better see the ocean’s roaring waves crashing against the dark jagged edges of the cliff, a grim warning of what could be the worst - if either of them messed up this HALO.</p><p>A warning beep issued from his helmet. Parachute time. Dragon grabbed at the cord’s lever, fingers curling. Moment of truth about the house keys. </p><hr/><p>“<em>Warm up the engines. We’re on our way</em>,” issued radio-comms.</p><p>The armoured truck rumbled to life, that guttural diesel growl subdued under the pitter-pattering of the rain striking its bulletproof panels. The two large black SUVs, parked front and back also started – their fog lights burning incandescent angel choirs to moths.</p><p>The vehicles were parked outside the mansion’s gates, tyres muddied by the soaked gravel road that connected like a vein through the forest; the main road and the crime lord’s estate. This place was 10 KMs from civilisation. If things went wrong tonight, it would be out of sight, out of notice by the public.</p><p>Three dark-suited men stood sentinel by their transport as their peers readied the prisoner from inside the mansion. Even in the rain, their form was disciplined, alert and unswayed by the elements.</p><p>By their hip-sides, Glock 17s fully-loaded with parabellum bullets were holstered, prepared to be fired at the trigger of a squirrel twitching in the forest. These DIH officials were highly trained for high-risk combat situations that came in the forms of gunfights, hand-to-hand combat and espionage.</p><p>They were trained for the confrontation of all kinds of dangers. All except the most fatal kind.</p><p>The personnel standing furthest away from the gates was the first to see her. A blonde woman trudging in the rain, her white dress ruined by mud and evidence of a long trek in the rain. As she drew closer in easier visibility, the others too saw her. The trio exchanged nervous glances. What was this?</p><p>“Hello?” the young miss called out.</p><p>The personnel at the forefront instinctively thumbed at his service weapon, yet the rest of him hesitated. This lady looked to be in distress with the meek plodding, her arms wrapped around herself, no doubt chilled by the elements. Confusing the personnel and his comrades even further, the blonde’s closer proximity showed that the soaked white dress was pressed and curved on her voluptuous figure - golden ratio contours teased by the sodden-thinned fabric.</p><p>“Kenji, ask her what she wants,” prompted one of the two rear-guards.</p><p>At the front of the Nissan Patrol, Kenji kept his hand on the Glock. The 4x4’s headlights were on, flooding white illuminance towards the road and forest; raindrops caught highlighted like silver needles. The blonde stopped, perhaps sensing Kenji’s tension (much to the disappointment of his inner-simp). Her white dress was a subversive candle in this depressing wet night, spotlighted like magnesium aflame by the Patrol.</p><p>“Ma’am, what do you want?” Kenji asked, trying not to lose sight of the broader picture. It was a conscious effort to keep his eyes from drowning into her cleavage, exposed by that wet-tissue imitation of a dress - the ebony undergarment lacing beneath and cold-kissed skin.</p><p>The blonde’s lips trembled (Kenji noted her eyes were blue) before she burst into tears and shivers. On impulse, Kenji removed his hand from the Glock and made to remove his own jacket for the damsel in distress.</p><p>“I’m sorry. . .it’s just my car. . .it broke down so I followed this road. . .” she sobbed.</p><p>“You must be cold. Here – for now. We don’t have an umbrella with us unfortunately but there should be something dry in one of the cars. Are you okay? What’s your name?” asked Kenji.</p><p>“It’s Ann. Thank you,” said Ann, covering her bare arms with the jacket.</p><p>Because Kenji was not a born pervert and was raised proper by his momma, he failed to notice the silver glint of a tucked switchblade between Ann’s breasts. This is why you shouldn’t be an ass man.</p><p>“Kenji?” called one of the guys from the back.</p><p>Kenji looked back and gave them the ‘No danger’ hand-sign.</p><p>“Hey. . .” began Ann, “. . .what’s that in your undershirt?” asked Ann.</p><p>“Oh this, it’s a bulletproof vest. Please come this way, Ann-san. . .”</p><p>“That’s a shame,” said Ann.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>A metallic glimmer flicked between them. An open switchblade.</p><p>“I hope your friends won’t be too hard to kill,” said Ann, those eyes glittering like sapphires in ice.</p><p>The switchblade plunged into Kenji’s neck in the fractional millisecond his neural activity registered what this supposedly helpless woman said. The DIH operative went down. His comrades saw the blood in the rain. Weapons fired under the hood of the storm’s thunder.</p><hr/><p>Ryuji looked to the entrance doors.</p><p>“What was that?” he said.</p><p>“It’s called thunder,” drawled his partner, idly flipping through a gravure magazine.</p><p>Ryuji frowned.</p><p>“I think it was somethin’ more, Daisuke.”</p><p>“What are you trying to say, rookie?”</p><p>“I dunno. What if we’re being attacked? Maybe I should go outside and check,” said Ryuji.</p><p>“Be my guest. If you ask me, we’re lucky Yuja-senpai stationed us in the atrium and not outside, soaking with those sobs. What do you think is supposed to attack us out here anyway? This exfiltration is confidential, you know,” said Daisuke.</p><p>“Maybe. . .maybe someone leaked the information and now the bad guys are here?” suggested Ryuji.</p><p>Daisuke snorted, stopping at the page spread of one bathycolpian model. His lips quirked - ‘Not bad’.</p><p>“You’ve been watching way too many spy movies, my man. In reality, our line of work is boring compared to 007. There’s no mole. No operatic bad guys. The hot chics aren’t femme fatales trying to kill us. They’re-” Daisuke tapped the magazine, “-printed in magazines.”</p><hr/><p>Ann stepped over a corpse. The last one was crawling pathetically on the mud, towards the estate’s gate. Ann was impressed he was still able to move, after getting shot in both his kneecaps and losing an ear (truth be told, she was aiming for a headshot). Incarnadined flesh-strings hung from his earhole, dribbling blood down to his gasping mouth. </p><p>Ann squarely planted her ruined platform heels between the shoulder blades of the dying operative.</p><p>“Only one minute? I was hoping you’d last longer with me, darling,” said Ann.</p><p>She lined the Glock 17’s barrel and blew his brains out.</p><hr/><p>The finger that lowered the turntable’s needle was pudgy, adorning a gold ring which had cocaine dust stuck in the skin-to-metal grooves. He wiped the dust off the vinyl’s centre label, his bound hands clinking the handcuffs. Kaneshiro read the Spencerian script of the record label - ‘<em>Kyrie Orbis Factor</em>’ before pushing the play button. He had a feeling tonight will be the last time he will ever hear this composition.</p><p>Lamenting orchestral music filled the dark home of the crime lord. Save the owner himself and the DIH officials arresting him, the place was devoid of life. Furniture was covered and tagged for auction shipping. The vaults were cleaned out. Earlier today, they towed out his Lamborghini and Cizeta V16T.</p><p>“Why did he turn on the music?”</p><p>“Dude’s lost it. His criminal empire is gonna go up in smoke when they prosecute him in court.”</p><p>“Kaneshiro?”</p><p>The last that spoke had introduced himself as ‘Yuja’ to Kaneshiro.</p><p>Kaneshiro raised his deadened eyes to the leader of this DIH squadron. Yuja was a strange one. If one were to look at a guy like him in the streets, that person would think he was the sort that watered to his russell lupin garden during summer, enjoying retirement. Or practising tai chi at the park.  Not – hustling as a senior ranking member of Japan’s military intelligence, who had not only managed to be a huge pain in the arse to a crime lord for months, but even nailed an arrest warrant onto Kaneshiro’s sweating buttocks.</p><p>Yuja was standing akimbo, eyebrows raised amused. The closer Kaneshiro looked, the more he discerned that cocky satisfaction in Yuja’s eyes for having the power to hold his balls tonight.</p><p>“Everything all right? We’re about to leave now. Transport is ready,” said Yuja.</p><p>Kaneshiro said nothing, his cold glare hardly thawing at the centigrade. Lightning’s flash sliced through the French windows, casting shadows of a rain-dappled pattern on the walls in the dim living room.</p><p>“Now now. No need to be mad. At least, not at me. You can thank Koji Niijima for leaving behind that one last middle finger to you. Must have been a nasty surprise when that evidence stash surfaced this year, eh? Was that why you killed a Tokyo P.D officer? Because a common policeman found out you stole the Pentagon’s weapon? The yankies are piiiissed about that. They think you never lost the package. That you know where Niijima hid it from you,” said Yuja.</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Tsk. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got people waiting in interrogation who are very keen to meet you. Have a chat over cha. Maybe something more.”</p><p>“I didn’t - order its theft,” intoned Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Eh?”</p><p>“The weapon. Why would I want that thing? Nampa, drug trades and smuggling, all those divisions were profitable enough. If I wanted to get into the big arms business, it would have been much less baggage to get a retired A-bomb from Russia instead of fucking with the Pentagon,” sneered Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Yet you did steal their prototype, didn’t you?”</p><p>“. . .Yes. And it could have stayed clandestine if that simpleton of a cop who enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship with the mob, didn’t suddenly develop a conscience-” Kaneshiro hawked and spat, “-that bastard Niijima had no idea what he did. He thought he was being a hero but there were things bigger than him in motion. Bigger than all of us!”</p><p>Yuja frowned.</p><p>“Mutually beneficial. . .what are you saying? Koji was a crooked cop?!” demanded Yuja.</p><p>Kaneshiro snickered.</p><p>“You people have no idea. It’s not black and white. It’s not just good guys and bad. Maybe when this is all over, you’ll learn something interesting about our beloved Prime Minister, Shido too. How it’s really going to play out in the court hearing-”</p><p>“Yuja-senpai! We have a problem. Transport is not responding for exfil confirm,” interjected one of Yuja’s subordinates.</p><p>All of Yuja’s earlier laid-back energy was now gone. He seemed torn, between Kaneshiro’s dark soothsaying and this unexpected setback. Surely this storm was not able to disable wireless comms? thought Yuja.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Radio Daisuke and - that new kid?” asked Yuja.</p><p>“Sakamoto Ryuji.”</p><p>“Yes. Have them check what’s going on-”</p><p>An unseen, sharp shattering of glass pierced through the orchestra music playing. Everyone in the room went dead quiet, ears straining through the rain and <em>Kyrie</em>. A scream went out, followed by the report of automatic gunfire. Immediately, six Glocks in the room were unholstered and unlocked. The operatives looked wide eye at Yuja for orders.</p><p>“Shit,” whispered Yuja.</p><p>“What the fuck is going on?!” demanded Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Sir-?”</p><p>“Weapons free! Weapons free! We need Kaneshiro in Tokyo, alive!” hissed Yuja.</p><hr/><p>Crow weaved between pillars; his assault rifle poised at ready. A tracer line of red followed out his weapon, the laser guidance dot skimming from the bottom of the staircase, to up. He stopped and crouched.</p><p>The first couple of operatives ran out too fast. Crow opened fire. Bullets tore through their necks and faces. One body toppled over the railings, landing head-first onto the marble floor. Her skull cracked in sync to the storm’s thunder.</p><p>Crow took cover behind one column. The colonnades in the main hall were put through the abuse of Glock automatic fire as the DIH tried to flush him out.</p><p>Crow’s earpiece crackled static. Opening comm from Dragon.</p><p>“<em>Still alive?</em>” asked Dragon.</p><p>“Come out you bastard!” shouted someone shooting at him.</p><p>“<em>I’ll take that as a yes.</em>”</p><p>Crow returned suppressive fire, stopping when his first ammo clip was almost empty.</p><p>“Must this really be the time for chitty-chat? We’re both a little preoccupied right now, don’t you agree?” said Crow.</p><p>“<em>Tut tut. I feel like an unappreciated domestic wife. I cleared out the west wing, you know? At least</em>-” Dragon’s voice cut off. Crow cupped at his ear, making out gunfire from Dragon’s end. Then silence.</p><p>“Dragon?” whispered Crow.</p><p>“<em>. . .hold that rant. I got two here chasing me from the atrium. Wasn’t this Panther’s job?</em>”</p><p>“No – she’s supposed to cover the gate and our getaway. Not the house,” said Crow.</p><p>“<em>You give her all the easy stuff,</em>” complained Dragon.</p><p>Crow winced when another barrage of fire thinned out his cover. Concrete chunks and dust tore off the column, exposing the iron reinforcements in the structure. Crow wiped the dust film off his HALO helmet. The HUD display was still active, now in ‘Termination mode’. A notification popped, citing that the surveillance cameras in Kaneshiro’s mansion were now hijacked and feeding into an A.I software analysis of the house schematics. Matchups registered. Red highlights popped behind the walls upstairs, giving away the operatives’ position in real-time.</p><p>“Dragon. . .” Crow began.</p><p>“<em>I know, I know. I’ll let you do your pew-pew-pew! Dragon out</em>.”</p><hr/><p>Dragon slid into cover behind the bookshelf. He reloaded his CTAR-21, ears straining. Were they going to follow him into the library? Unlike Crow’s HUD, Dragon was receiving an ‘Error’ message for real-time feedback for where his enemies were hiding. Convenient.</p><p>A minute went by. Still nothing.</p><p><em>I can’t wait all night</em>, Dragon thought impatiently.</p><p>Dragon unclipped the laser dot attachment from his gun and considered the aisle at the opposite end of his hiding position. Dragon flipped the device in his free hand and clicked on the laser – his thumb suppressing the light emission lens. What if. . .</p><p><em>Will they take the bait? </em>thought Dragon.</p><p>#</p><p>A sweat drop rolled down Ryuji’s temple. Daisuke inched into the library first, Glock poised. Ryuji was behind him, resisting the urge to swallow. Daisuke raised his hand, signing, ‘You go left’. Ryuji nodded, gripping his weapon tighter in his sweaty palms.</p><p>The storm’s rumbling was somewhat subdued now, leaving only the monotonous drumming of rain. Even then, Ryuji’s galloping heartbeat sounded too loud to his ears. He scanned each shelf aisle, wide-eyed for the mysterious hitman to lie in wait, ready to open fire with that military grade weapon. The tension in Ryuji’s trigger finger was coiled to the max.</p><p><em>Who the heck is attacking us?! </em>thought Ryuji.</p><p>More importantly, how many were there? When Daisuke tried to radio in earlier to Yuja-senpai, there was no response. The same happened with the transport team. Were the others compromised?</p><p>Ahead, something lightly knocked on the floor. Ryuji’s head snapped to the direction. A laser line was luminescing from an unseen corner. He heard Daisuke’s running steps towards the source.</p><p><em>It’s a poor strat to hide there – Hang on. . . </em>thought Ryuji.</p><p>“Shit. Daisuke, wait!” Ryuji called out.</p><p>Ryuji’s warning was too late. The barrage of that machine gun ripped. Ryuji heard Daisuke’s brief cry, followed by a body falling.</p><p><em>No! No! No!</em> thought Ryuji.</p><p>Panic flooded into Ryuji like a cold grip. He froze on the spot, trying to fight back at his fear paralysis. Shitfucksonofabitchgoddamnit. All those hundreds of hours of training at the academy did not truly prepare him for this mortal moment of actual combat and the loss of human life. Everything was happening too fast, too violently compared to the simulations.</p><p>Ryuji gritted his teeth and dropped into a crouching position. C’mon dude, you need to move. His forehead was sweating so profusely now, it was almost getting in the way of his vision, as Ryuji scanned through the gaps of the books on the shelves. Where was the cunt hiding. . .?</p><p>The 8ft tall shelf behind Ryuji creaked. He turned back and saw the obelisk thing was toppling down to him, books falling off. Ryuji dove forward, arms outstretched. His clumsy landing penalised his standing recovery. A foot came swinging at his weapon hand. Ryuji yelped. The Glock was kicked metres away, towards the spreading pool of blood from Daisuke’s corpse.</p><p>The hitman’s weapon clicked, point-blank at Ryuji’s chest. Ryuji seized up, his blood running cold.</p><p>The hitman tilted his head at Ryuji. His face was hidden, wearing some sort of high-tech looking helmet which reminded Ryuji of mecha pilots in anime. On the dark glassy surface, Ryuji saw the reflection of his own terrified face.</p><p>“C’mon man. . .you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Ryuji.</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Don’t,” whispered Ryuji.</p><p>“If only Shido Masayoshi showed such mercy to her,” said the hitman.</p><p>His response was unexpected to Ryuji. Shido? Ryuji thought bewildered. What did the country’s Prime Minister have to do with this?</p><p>“Tell them to have the WiFi password ready for me in hell. Goodbye,” said the hitman.</p><p>Ryuji squeezed his eyes shut. The trigger was pulled.</p><p>
  <em>Click click click. Click. Click.</em>
</p><p><em>Huh? </em>thought Ryuji.</p><p>The hitman looked at his gun, confused. The ammo clip unhinged, revealing to be empty. Then he tutted, shaking his head.</p><p>“OK - <em>This</em> was supposed to play out in a badass witty way, like in my head,” explained the hitman.</p><p>There was an awkward pause between them. The hitman’s hand inched towards the spare clip at his waist.</p><p>Ryuji didn’t wait. He leapt up, tackling at the hitman. The hitman swore, trying to shove and kick Ryuji off him but Ryuji’s grip on him was like a gorilla. During the scuffle, Ryuji realised he was screeching – like some sort of impulsive survival reflex.</p><p>The CTAR-21 wrenched out of the hitman’s hands, sent scattering to the shadowy darkness beneath a reading table. At that point, his opponent drove his knee into Ryuji’s chest. Ryuji gasped, almost all the air leaving his lungs. In feint, Ryuji slackened his grip.</p><p>The hitman mistook that for a moment of weakness. When he tried to break free again from the shoulder grips, Ryuji locked him into a judo grapple.</p><p>“YAAAAHH!” shouted Ryuji.</p><p>Ryuji lifted the guy and threw him across the reading table. Not allowing him the respite for recovery, Ryuji pounced over, piledriving his fist for a lights out blow.</p><p>His fist connected at the helmet’s glass. Rather his punch shattering through it, Ryuji felt his knuckles dislocated and fracture.</p><p><em>What the fuck? </em>thought Ryuji.</p><p>Ryuji winced. He jumped back, clutching at his ruined hand.</p><p>The hitman picked himself up like a corpse, rising as if strung by an invisible noose, his arms loose. When his opponent raised his head up, Ryuji saw that he did manage to make a hole in the glass visor, exposing a grey eye and a hint of raven hair. The hitman self-consciously scratched at the exposed cavity of his true identity. A thread of wet red fell from his scraped eyebrow, giving the illusion of crying blood.</p><p>“It’s a synthetic variant of metallic glass. Not as strong as the original version, which is six times stronger than steel,” said the hitman.</p><p>Ryuji raised his good hand at ready; ‘I’m still fighting’.</p><p>The hitman chuckled, wagging a finger.</p><p>“Oh no no. You’ve got a fiery spirit and I’d even say you’re more clever than you look. Street-smart, they call it? But-” that exposed eye angled into anger. The hitman flexed his knuckles, “-You’re not winning this fist fight. Not with one hand especially,” said the hitman.</p><hr/><p>Ann was sitting in one of the SUVs, head bumping to the music blasting from the radio.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Uh huh, this is my shit </em><em>♪</em></p><p><em>“All the girls stomp your feet like this </em> <em>♪</em></p><p><em>A few times I’ve been around that track </em> <em>♫</em></p><p><em>So it’s just not gonna happen like that! </em> <em>♪</em></p><p><em>‘Cause I ain’t no Hollaback girl </em> <em>♫</em></p><p><em>I ain’t no Hollaback girl </em><em>♪ </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Looking at the rear-view mirror, one would have seen the reflection of a blond guy being thrown out the second story window. But Ann was too busy head bobbing and lip-syncing to the music, to notice.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Ooh, ooh, this is my shit, this is my shit </em><em>♪ </em>”</p><hr/><p>A single bullet shell casing rolled off the top step of the grand staircase. It bounced slightly on the first landing, its circular edge catching a corona of iridescent glimmers against the flashes of muzzle fire. Landed at the second stepping – another bounce, this time twirling vertical, like a ballerina. The storm’s rumblings paused, as if holding its breath for the infinitesimal moment of a parabellum revolution. 9 millimetres of spent explosive power that took lives on the whim of its god that pulled the trigger, unable to control the trajectory of its own destiny.</p><p>Thunder cracked.</p><p>The ballerina’s twirl broke its fall like an ankle twist, on a pool of blood. The bullet rolled towards the glassy-eyed stare of the dead DIH operative. More shell casings joined the archipelagos of littered corpses and their rufescent lagoons, swimming with broken tiles and vase.</p><p>Yuja was the last one to fall. He did not die a romanticised hero’s death. One side his face carved out by a half-clip’s worth of Crow’s last magazine.</p><p>Crow stepped over Yuja’s corpse and kicked open the doors. In the bedroom, Kaneshiro stood stupefied.</p><p>“Oiiii! Crow! Is the coast clear?!” Dragon shouted from downstairs.</p><p>Kaneshiro leaned left to get a better look past Crow, at the massacre left in this intruder’s wake.</p><p>“Pardon my partner. While we have a similar goal, our temperament is quite differing. He’s something of a joker in enterprises of. . .unsavoury matters,” said Crow.</p><p>“You just killed all of them!” blurted Kaneshiro.</p><p>“. . .yes. We did,” said Crow.</p><p>Kaneshiro centred back on this gunman. The portly man’s eyes bulged out like a fly, struggling to rationalise what was happening. Everything had been planned with him getting arrested then to the acquittal of charges. This however – this was an unexpected aberration.</p><p>“Who are you?” croaked Kaneshiro.</p><p>Crow answered by taking off his helmet. He reached at the back of his skull and pressed the release switches. There was a hiss of microhydraulics and quiet pops as tiny pieces unchained and depressurised. The helmet dropped to the ground.</p><p>Kaneshiro’s mouth hung agape.</p><p>Goro Akechi shook his head, giving his hazel hair an easier reprieve to be out of the helmet’s sandwiching.</p><p>“You. . .you’re just a kid!” exclaimed Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Am I? Being twenty-five has been strange for me,” said Goro.</p><p>Dragon entered the room, his CTAR-21 held ready. When he saw the situation was under control, he lowered his weapon.</p><p>“Does he know?” asked Dragon, referring to Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Know what?!” asked Kaneshiro.</p><p>“We’re about to find out. Dragon,” said Goro.</p><p>Dragon levelled his assault rifle at Kaneshiro.</p><p>“So – this ought to be straightforward, Junya. As a mafia man, I bet you’d have your own résumé bullet points on the whole ‘Tell us what you know, yada-yada, or else’. . .Or else my friend here will make you uglier than what I did to that last imbecile, outside the door. Are there any questions?” asked Goro.</p><p>“D-Did Shido send you guys? To betray me?” whispered Kaneshiro.</p><p>Goro chuckled.</p><p>“No – nothing like that. Funnily though, Shido’s the very reason we’ve gone through all the trouble tonight to reach you,” said Goro.</p><p>“Too much trouble,” muttered Dragon.</p><p>“Oh? Are you injured?” prompted Goro, opting to settle himself onto a red chaise.</p><p>Dragon could still feel that dull ache in his shoulder from when that blond guy threw him.</p><p>“Consider the, ‘You should have seen the other guy’ box ticked. If crashing into a bramble of thorns isn’t life-ending, it must certainly hurt like hell,” said Dragon.</p><p>“What do you people want from me then?! Money? I got none! DIH’s auditors froze all my assets,” said Kaneshiro.</p><p>“Not money. We are quite well-funded in that regard. It just so happens that Shido has made such enemies in his cruel clawing to power. No, what we want is information. This is about Koji Niijima. We know he was a crooked cop under your thumb. But things went south towards the end. You know what I’m talking about, yes? Eleven years ago, a DARPA prototype that was on its way from North America to the U.K, was stolen from Tokyo Bay,” said Goro.</p><p>“. . . you guys are kidding me. Do you even know what you’re asking for? This ain’t no nuclear bomb, nor is it a mech suit-”</p><p>“We’re well aware of its obtuse nature,” interrupted Goro.</p><p>“It might not be a big-arse bomb. But even your boss once wanted the Vāsuki Venom,” said Dragon.</p><p>It had been a long while since Kaneshiro has known fear. Even when the DIH made their grand threats and taunts that he was going to prison, Kaneshiro never flinched once. Now – his tiny eyes were round with fear.</p><p>“Y-you know what it is,” stammered Kaneshiro.</p><p>Goro nodded.</p><p>“We do. You can imagine, we’re also planning to use it,” said Goro.</p><p>Kaneshiro gaped. For the first time since Koji Niijima died, Kaneshiro finally came to grasp an iota of what might have gone through the policeman’s mind when he decided to deny Shido the Vāsuki Venom. At the time, the uprising politician was planning to use Vāsuki in a controlled zone to defame the current Prime Minister. The casualties were never going to be that high; just tragic enough to damage the then majority party’s credibility in the eyes of the people. Niijima created the setback, yes. The weapon was likely forever lost, buried within Nippon’s other secrets from older times. But the years went by and Shido managed to become Prime Minister. There was no need for it now.</p><p>“W-what could you conceivably stand to gain?! Killing millions of your fellow countrymen?!” sputtered Kaneshiro.</p><p>“A conscience, Kaneshiro? <em>From you</em>?” said Goro.</p><p>“I’m a crime lord. Not a one-eyed Bond villain that poises over a big red button, stroking his white cat. My profits came from exploiting the living, not killing every one of them! Even I know there’s no patrons for hookers, no addicts for white lines, no ATMs if there’s no pulse – no cash flow if entire cities are turned into a death zone.”</p><p>“Touching words. Even the ruthless Junya Kaneshiro doesn’t want too many people to die,” said Goro.</p><p>“. . .”</p><p>“Crow?” asked Dragon.</p><p>“Do it.”</p><p>Dragon engaged his assault rifle to single-fire and shot Kaneshiro in the foot. Kaneshiro toppled down, screaming. He writhed on the floor, like some demon-possessed pig shrieking and spastic.</p><p>“It would be convenient for everyone here, if you stopped delaying and told us where Niijima hid Vāsuki,” said Dragon.</p><p>“Fuck you, motherfucker! You shot me!!”</p><p>“Listen to the man, Kaneshiro. Where did Niijima hide it?” asked Goro.</p><p>“<em>I don’t know</em>-” Kaneshiro sucked in air, his face screwed in pain, “-he was too dead to tell us by the time we realised it was impossible to find. After five hours of waterboarding, all Koji kept blabbering about was how only ‘the princess’ would be able to find the Vāsuki Venom. At that point we knew he wasn’t going to stop with his tommyrot bullshit so my men threw him into the harbour, ankle anchored to a concrete block,” said Kaneshiro.</p><p>Goro and Dragon exchanged glances.</p><p>“A princess? Was there nothing else you got from him in that five hours?” said Goro, frowning.</p><p>“We also found a letter on him, addressed to no one. All it said was, <em>I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it, princess</em>. That’s it! That’s all I know!” gasped Kaneshiro.</p><p>Goro was not pleased by this.</p><p>“Tch!”</p><p>Goro paced the living room, frustrated with this dead end. Dragon lowered his weapon.</p><p>“After all this, we’re no closer to finding Vāsuki,” Goro seethed.</p><p>Dragon did not say anything. He was staring into space, as if his mind was somewhere else.</p><p>“Sorry Dragon. Guess I made you jump into that storm for nothing,” said Goro.</p><p>“Say that again,” said Dragon.</p><p>“What?” asked Goro.</p><p>Dragon gestured to Kaneshiro.</p><p>“What Niijima wrote in his letter. Say it again,” said Dragon.</p><p>“He wrote: Your mum’s a hoe,” said Kaneshiro.</p><p>A bullet blew through the mobster’s other foot and four noisy minutes later, Kaneshiro was repeating Koji Niijima’s final written testament, through gritted teeth:</p><p>“<em>I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it, princess</em>.”</p><p>Dragon considered the words. Goro was looking at his partner, impatient.</p><p>“Well? What’s the big inside secret?” Goro asked.</p><p>“. . .That line, it’s from <em>Letters to my Daughter</em>. . .by Maya Angelou. The princess part is tacked on, but it’s a similar quote. Did Niijima have a daughter? Or daughters?” asked Dragon.</p><p>The penny dropped for both Goro and Kaneshiro. The mood in the room shifted, charged with the realisation that finding the Vāsuki Venom was possible.  </p><p>“There’s our princess,” said Goro.</p><p>“How do you even know something like that?” asked Kaneshiro.</p><p>Dragon shrugged sheepishly.</p><p>“A lot of authors are literary nerds. I’m one of them,” said Dragon.</p><p>“What could a writer possibly want with a military weapon and Shido?” Kaneshiro asked, confused.</p><p>Dragon discreetly switched the CTAR-21 into automatic fire mode.</p><p>“The only thing any writer could conceivably be bothered about. When he raises his head from books about fairy tales, magic, dreams. . .nightmares and death. It’s when nightmares and death reach him in the real world too,” Dragon pointed the gun at Kaneshiro, “-what I want, is revenge.”</p><p>Dragon riddled Kaneshiro with bloody red holes, until the magazine clip was empty. Goro looked apathetically at Kaneshiro’s corpse.</p><p>“I could have done that, you know,” said Goro.</p><p>“Perhaps. But we’re reaching the endgame now. You can’t preserve what little is left of my innocence, Crow. We both know I forsook it the day I agreed to this partnership.”</p><p>Dragon tossed the gun.</p><p>"Once the poison is swallowed, I don't see the point in throwing the goblet. At least, when the end arrives, I will have enjoyed a fine wine," said Dragon.</p><hr/><p><em>Tokyo</em>.</p><p><br/>Shivers rippled across her back. Makoto raised her head from the cushion couch, her right cheek waffle-pressed from sleeping on it.</p><p>Curtains ballooned at the window, animated by the night breeze from outside. Through the betwixt gap, Makoto made out the Madam Anisette roses shying into the window. Liquorice tones exhaled from the cream petals, waking Makoto quicker into lucidity. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her bleary vision cleared, clarifying her strewn leather jacket and the police badge on the coffee table. Did she pass out that fast? Maybe the chief was right, she was pushing herself too much these days.</p><p>The window latch clicked into lock. Makoto drew the curtains across. Doing so, her eyes fell (as it often did) to the framed photograph on the side table. A typical childhood picture from when she was six, sitting with her father. The photo was taken at a park bench with the sun flare of a gingko tree behind them. That was a good day. Playing by the swings, ice cream then a fairy tale story. What was it about? Once upon a time. . .?</p><p><em>“. . .there was a princess. She didn’t know it yet, but she was about to get into a lot of trouble,” said Koji Niijima</em>.</p><p>
  <em>“Like danger?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mmhmm.”</em>
</p><p>Right. A princess. There had been a black dragon too. There was a whole story to it. . .</p><p>Makoto yawned.</p><p>Best be heading to bed now. She collected her things and left the living room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story is being written for one of my longfic readers, Lisa – for participating in a fan tweet event last November. It’s been overdue (among the five other tweeters I have promised to write one story for each, as a ‘thank you’) but I am glad to get Protocol Princess’s prologue out at last. I never anticipated I would publish ShuMako someday; a sentiment that’s anchored with my biases for two other [shujinkō x character] ships in Persona 5. That said, I intend to do my zeal to convey the integrity of my gratitude to Lisa for helping a director’s vision get released, a kinetic energy that has also sent ripples to helping raise money for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. This attitude will be done for the other five’s fanfics too. Also, a token of appreciation to xVieBoheme who was kind enough to provide reading material for me as an introductory course for how Makoto has been written thus far in the fanfiction spaces. </p><p>I do not expect my iteration of a ShuMako fic to be 1:1 for what’s already there necessarily. It’s a consequence of both my writing style and the impending circumstances in this AU. That said, I hope this ends up being a worthwhile read for Lisa (and anyone else, who may find this premise interesting). I’m expecting to wrap this one up in four chapters – but don’t expect that conclusion soon. It’s a unique list for “Reasons why ‘Virtual Delirium’ writes slow” and the latest addition is a cat (recently adopted by me), who has taken a proprietorial liking for the chair at my writing station (; ･д･)ﾉﾞ 🐈</p></blockquote></div></div>
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